


It never means anything, unless

by rufflefeather



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Drabble, Hurt No Comfort, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-10
Updated: 2011-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufflefeather/pseuds/rufflefeather





	It never means anything, unless

Two fingers slide down the length, followed by lips, pink and swollen from being bitten and kissed, moving down, up. A tongue darts out, catching a droplet forming on the head as the fingers squeeze their way up, down. Encircling the base, three fingers, four. Tightening. The mouth slowly sliding down, smiling at the soft moans it extracts from a throat dried out by too much open mouthed breathing. The movement increases, up, down. Cheeks hollow as they suck, moans turn needy, greedy, desperate. A cry, hands tangling in hair, pulling, holding in place. Stuttering breaths and murmured nothings. Eyes opening slowly, hazy, before focussing on the face the hands are cradling, a slow smile unfurling. Eyes flicking to a movement near the door.  
  
‘Merlin!’  
  
A scramble, for sheets, for clothes, for a hold against the frame as Merlin walks away from it.  
  
‘Merlin, fuck! Come back- ah shit. Merlin!’  
  
He stops at the front door, slips the key from his keyring and places it on top of the dresser, right beside the frame he smiled at so many times. So many years. All for nothing.  
  
He talks to the Arthur in that frame, not quite turning around and certainly not looking at the one behind him, not wanting to know what that one looks like. The one that isn’t holding him tight, one arm stretched out to take a picture, smile so bright it makes you want to squint.   
  
‘I hope you enjoyed that Arthur. I hope it was worth it.’   
  
He drinks him in one more time, the other - beautiful - Arthur, knowing the two of them will never look alike again.   
  
‘Merlin, please don’t go. It doesn’t mean anything. Please.’  
  
He doesn’t turn around, knowing it would undo him. He grips the doorknob, knuckles white, twists it in unison with the force twisting his windpipe until surely air will never be sufficient again.   
  
‘It never means anything, unless you’re the person being hurt.’  
  
The door closes behind him, locking him out of their life and apartment.


End file.
